GIVE ME THIS SICILIAN MAN RN.

oh my god 😩

Bro always got that first set of buttons unbuttoned to show off a lil chest 😩

his arms wait im gonna cum

Soft Spot Pt. 2 ~

summary: spring break trip to cabo, luigi gets wiped out, and you’re sent to help him ;)

content warning: smut, oral (both receiving), p in v, luigi gets bruised

an: hi!! thank you to everyone that liked, shared, and commented on part 1!!!! also thank u to my homie palmersluvr for help with the formatting tho im still figuring it out. idk the word count but this shit is sooo long but i had so much fucking fun writing this so i hope you all enjoy :)! take a shot for every single time i said “rhythm” lol.

part 1

————————

weeks passed, and despite the playful texts shared between you and luigi, he wasn’t able to come back for a second “appointment”.

not because he didn’t want to. but because midterms had everyone busy— especially him.

sleep schedules were fucked up, group chats barely active, and every inch of the library taken over by students running on iced coffee.

luigi had practically disappeared— only proof of his existence being the many students that he tutored making jokes about how their TA had a spot reserved in heaven for all the hard work he’s done for them.

and yet, despite the chaos, there hadn’t been a single mention of back pain from him or his friends.

if anything, everyone noticed he seemed lighter. maybe your hands really had worked some sort of magic.

and eventually you were all able to taste the sweet freedom of spring break. friends of friends all headed to cabo for a well deserved get away.

instagram buzzing with photo dumps of tan lines and tiny bikinis, camera roll full of coconut drinks, beach sunsets, and grainy late-night dinners.

the resort ridiculously beautiful— picked out by luigi and others. shady palm trees stretching over the infinity pool, balconies overlooking the ocean, music a constant hum in the background no matter the hour. every corner full of beauty.

spending mornings with your girls walking the shoreline, tucking cute little seashells into your beach bag. afternoons spent exploring, wandering through colorful local markets, vendors beckoning you over in spanish, taking polaroids of everything. chaotic dinners with messy seafood platters, one too many margaritas, and tables full of friends cramming in every space they could.

and always, luigi was there, lingering just close enough to keep you on your toes. the flirting having been buried under study guides and endless cups of coffee— but not entirely gone.

you felt it in the way his eyes lingered on you in your sundresses, in the way he saved the empty chair next to him for you, in the way your fingers would brush when passing certain items across the table, yet neither of you said anything.

it was the kind of tension that hung in the air without needing to be addressed aloud. sweet, aching, and unbothered— until it wasn’t.

all the boys had decided to go out early that particular morning to catch some waves, lugging huge surfboards down to the beach while you and the rest of the girls stayed behind for some late brunch at the resort cafe.

you were mid-bite into a piece of french toast when someone burst into the outdoor patio, face red and out of breath.

“luigi wiped out bad on a huge wave,” they panted, trying to catch their breath, “board slammed him in the back, he should be okay, but he’s out for the day. they took him back to the room to rest.”

your stomach dropped. you honestly didn’t even realize how much you’d been hoping he’d show up that day, maybe just for lunch or just to sneak a few glances at you.

“can someone go check on him?” one of your friends asked, glancing around the table. “he’s probably fine, just milking it. but still.”

many of them shrugged, too caught up in their delicious breakfast food or downing their drinks to volunteer.

“you’re the nicest one here and have the expertise,” another added, pointing her fork at you with a smile. “can you go make sure he’s still breathing? im sure he won’t bite.”

they didn’t know. shit, nobody knew about you two. and so you nodded, wiping your hands on a napkin and standing slowly.

you headed back to your room first— not wanting to show up empty-handed. grabbing some essentials from your suitcase like some peppermint oil, aloe vera, the same lotion you used on him in your dorm, all thrown into your tote bag.

when you stepped back out into the hallway, one of the guys had caught up to you and handed you a spare key card.

“he’s in one of the oceanfront suites so i figured you might need this since he’s probably bed ridden”

you mutter a thank you and walked a few doors down the hallway. with the door clicking shut behind you, you stood still for a second, just admiring.

everything was nicer, sleek, clean, and expensive. the king sized bed resembling a cloud , a perfect plush comforter thrown over. floor to ceiling windows letting in sunlight that kissed every surface in gold, and a soft sea breeze drifting in through his open balcony door. and then there was a hot tub, massive and polished. half sunk into the floor near the balcony, something out of a dream.

your breath hitched.

“luigi?”

you called out gently, stepping further into his room. and then you saw him.

sprawled out across the bed, shirtless, eyes half closed, with a pillow or two tucked under his lower back.

his swimming trunks were riding low, dangerously low. low enough that your eyes traveled down the faint trail of hair leading down his stomach— the one you didn’t get to appreciate too much before.

your fingers clenched slightly around the strap of your tote bag, heart skipping a beat.

“…hi.” he replies softly and shyly.

you don’t say anything at first, tossing your bag on the dresser and kicking off your sandals without a second thought.

the bed dips slightly under your weight as you carefully climbed up beside him, leaning in slowly, one hand going to cradle the side of his face, your fingers instinctively tangling themselves in his curls, scratching his scalp softly.

“what the hell happened?” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. “how bad is it?”

he leaned into your touch just a little, lashes low and heat radiating off of him.

“hurts like a bitch,” he admitted, lips twitching into a tired grin, “but seeing you kind of helps.”

you rolled your eyes, but your thumb still stroked gently over his cheek.

“you’re such a baby,” you muttered, “let me see.”

he blinked up at you, hesitant. you pull back enough to sit on your knees, glancing down at the way his arm was draped over his stomach.

“come on, turn over so i can see, or do i need to do it for you?”

he grumbles something about you being bossy, but shifts anyway to let you get a good look. wincing slightly as he moved his arm, revealing an angry red mark blooming across his lower back and side— already beginning to bruise, dark and raw.

you sucked in a quiet breath.

“jesus, luigi…”

you reached for your tote bag and rummaged through it, pulling out the lotion and peppermint oil, warming it up in your hands.

“this might sting a little,” you warned.

“i trust you,” he murmured, eyes falling closed again.

your hands pressed carefully to his skin in slow, gentle circles at first, barely any pressure. and his breath hitched, not from pain, but from you and how you knew exactly where to touch without asking.

you kept your focus low, jaw clenching and unclenching, pretending not to notice the way his hips twitched slightly when your palms smoothed along the curve of his waist.

“relax,” you whisper, “I’ve got you.”

your fingers moved in slow, practiced motions, the familiar rhythm calming the both of you. he was quiet under your touch, face buried into a pillow, muscles slowly uncoiling under your hands.

“you’re so dumb,” you said gently, a little laugh slipping out. “what were you even trying to do? show off? impress the ocean?”

luigi letting out a small groan and barely lifting his head mumbles, “was tryna ride the wave,” his words slurred with exhaustion and comfort.

you pressed your thumbs in a little deeper to the sides of his bruises, careful but firm.

“and it rode you huh?”

“mhmmm…”

you smiled, shaking your head, continuing— moving a bit lower, tracing along the edges of his blooming bruises. he let out a low whimper, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, his fingers slightly curling into the sheets.

“seriously gi,” you murmured, softer now. “you could’ve really hurt yourself.”

“m’sorry,” he breathed, voice small now. “didn’t mean to.”

you leaned down just a little, hair falling over your shoulder as you whispered near his ear. “you gotta stop being reckless. who’s gonna fix you up next time if i’m not around?”

his only answer being a quiet, needy whine— his head tilting slightly towards you.

and with you leaning over him like that, face being close and hair brushing his skin, he lifted his chin just enough to press his lips to yours. soft and tentative. you froze just for a second, then kissed him back just as gently.

you’re the first one to pull away, giving his hair a light tug. “you better behave,” you whispered, breath warm against his mouth. “or i won’t finish your massage.”

he grinned, lazy and dazed. “im behaving,” he mumbled, already slumping back into the pillow like your kiss was enough to sedate him.

you scooped up a little more oil into your palms and worked quietly for a few more minutes— slow and careful movements over the bruising, his muscles loose now.

and then, a soft murmur:

“i think my back’s good now… think you could get my shoulders?”

…

“…and maybe my chest too?”

you smirked and glanced down at him.

“whatever you want princess”

he began to turn over, shifting on his side with a groan, but as you were about to guide him onto his back—

“wait not like this.”

before you could even reply, his hands slid over your hips and in one quick motion, he brought you right into his lap.

you let out a quiet gasp, straddling him now, palms braced on his bare chest as he looked up at you— eyes dark and blown out.

“like this.” his voice barely above a whisper.

you didn’t say anything, just swallowed hard and nodded once. your fingers dipped back into the oil, rubbing it between your palms to warm it up before sliding your hands over his chest.

he was pretty still beneath you, save for the tiny shifts of his body. sharp inhales when your thumbs pressed into his skin, the subtle twitch of his thighs when you pressed too low.

“shit,” he breathed, voice hitching higher this time, soft and strained. “feels so good…”

your hands moved to his shoulders, thumbs circling into tight knots just beneath his neck. it was a bit of a stretch from your spot in his lap, so you leaned forward, your chest brushing against his, your breath grazing his jaw.

and then his lips found yours again, lazy and slow. he kissed you without urgency, one hand sliding to the small of your back, and the other on your thigh, trying to keep himself grounded.

you kissed him back, just as slow. before pulling away slightly, catching your breath, and going back to his shoulders as if nothing happened.

he groaned again, though not from the massage this time.

“not fair,” he muttered.

you laughed under your breath, going back to press into a particularly tight spot behind his shoulder blade.

“too bad.”

you leaned back down, lips finding his again and this time it gets heavier. his mouth opened beneath yours, teeth dragging your bottom lip between his, and his hips shifting beneath you.

he groaned into your mouth, deeper, and then—

his hips rolled up. just once. slow, instinctual, and desperate.

he sighed, lips parting as he dropped his head back into the pillow, his chest rising and falling fast under your palms.

“fuck…”

you didn’t move at first. just stayed still in his lap, enjoying the rise of fall of his chest. and then softly, you leaned in again.

you kissed the corner of his mouth— a gentle peck, then another, and another. then along his jaw. then that sensitive spot just below his ear, that always makes him shiver.

you worked your way down slowly, kissing along the edge of his throat, his collarbone, your mouth lingering all over as he tilted his head back to give you more access.

“baby…” he whispers, his voice wrecked.

his hands slide up your sides, slow and kinda unsure. when his fingers brushed the hem of your swimsuit coverup, you let your arms fall to your sides, silently giving him the permission he wanted.

he sat up slowly, groaning softly at the movement and peeled the fabric from your body in one slow motion, letting it fall somewhere in the room.

then his fingers reached the tie of your bikini top. he tugged at it gently, watching you the entire time. when you didn’t protest, he undid the knot with shaky fingers and let the top slip away.

his breath hitched.

“fuck, you’re—“

he didn’t even let himself finish before his mouth was already on you. soft kisses at first, then his lips closed around the swell of your breasts, tongue flicking, hands pressing you closer to him as you arched your back.

your quiet gasp became a whimper.

“oh…”

his groan followed instantly. he sucked a little harder, peppering warm, open mouthed kisses near your nipple.

“ you sound so pretty,” he mumbled against your skin. “don’t stop.”

then, without another word, he took your nipple into his mouth, gentle and almost hesitant at first. his tongue swirled around it, his lips closing in a tight, wet seal as he suckled, like you were his favorite lollipop.

you let out a sharp little moan, surprised by how sensitive you were and how good it felt to have him care for you as well. he groaned in return, the sound vibrating through your chest.

his hand slid up your spine, holding you steady as he moved over to your other nipple, showering it with the same attention— his tongue flicking, lips tugging just right to make you whimper again.

you threaded your fingers through his curls, breathing uneven, your thighs tightening around his hips as his mouth latched onto you. each moan that escaped your lips, pulled a groan from his— almost like he couldn’t help it, like your sounds were enough to unravel him.

your hips started to move before you even realized with small, slow rolls against his lap, the friction sending sparks between your thighs with every pass.

luigi’s breath hitched.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, thumbs brushing over your bare skin as he tried to ground himself, his eyes fluttering shut as your bodies rocked together in a lazy rhythm.

“fuck… that feels so good,” he murmured, forehead resting against your chest.

your fingers carded through his curls, your lips brushing over the top of his head, all tender and affectionate while your hips kept working him over.

but then—

a sharp inhale.

“ah- shit-“

he winced, body tensing up beneath you, and you froze instantly.

“your back?” you whispered.

he nodded, jaw clenched, and brows drawn tight.

“just moved a little weird, m’okay,” he exhaled, trying to wave it off.

you shook your head and cupped his cheek.

“nope. lay down babe. let me take care of you.”

he didn’t argue. just sank back into the pillows with a groan, arms falling to his sides like he had no fight left.

you kissed down his chest as you moved, slow and deliberate. letting your mouth explore every inch of his skin, from the curve of his pecs to the soft dips between his abs.

he was already breathing harder by the time you reached for the faint trail of hair leading down— that happy trail you admired earlier.

you licked a slow stripe down it and then another, watching him twitch slightly under you. his hips shifted again, his swimming trunks now tented and clinging low to his hips.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband, tugging them down in one smooth, letting him spring free, the weight of him softly slapping against his lower abdomen. his hissed, not from pain, but from need.

you hovered above him, eyes locked on his face as you leaned down and gave him a single, teasing kitten lick across the tip.

he groaned, loud and frustrated.

you did it again, this time even slower. and then another, barely brushing his sensitive underside.

his hips flexed, but you pulled back just in time, smiling softly.

“be patient,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his thigh.

you kept it at that— delicate little licks of your tongue that barely counted as relief. just enough to make him squirm, to make him whine, to keep him right there on the edge.

“please,” he gasped, hips twitching upwards only for you to press them down.

“please, i can’t— i need—“

but you didn’t give in. instead, your hands held his hips steady, fingers digging into his warm skin, and your tongue tracing lazy circles around his sensitive tip.

another kitten lick, then met with a breathless groan.

he was shaking now, head turned to the side, eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep his composure. his thighs tensing under your touch and his voice falling into almost incoherent whimpers.

“amore, please— im gonna—“

and then he did.

luigi’s whole body arched beneath you with a strangled moan, hips stuttering as he came hard against his stomach, all hot, messy, and sudden.

you kept going, soft and unrelenting, licking up everything he gave you with gentle care. every flick of your tongue making him twitch and sigh, oversensitive but too far gone to protest.

once you had cleaned him up, you leaned in close and pressed a tender kiss right to his tip. he let out a breathless laugh, eyes glassy and lips parted.

you smiled, resting your head just above his hips as you looked up at him, taking him in. you stayed like that for a bit, fingers tracing light circles on his thigh as he caught his breath.

his chest rose and fell in soft waves, his skin still flushed and forehead a little damp with sweat, lips parted in a dazed smile.

you leaned in again, pressing a kiss to his abdomen, another to his chest before moving upwards to curl into his side. your palms smoothed over his stomach, resting there while your nose brushed his jaw.

“how’s your back?” you whispered.

he chuckled weakly, still breathless, “honestly? im not even worried about it anymore.”

you scoffed and giggled into his neck, letting your fingers shift lower again, brushing over the curve of his hip.

then he turned his head, eyes burning behind the softness they had.

“let me return the favor,” he murmured. “please.”

your heart skipped a beat.

“luigi…”

but he was already moving. hands finding your bikini bottoms, fingers sliding against the strings at your hips as he untied them, tossing the fabric somewhere into the room.

his voice was hoarse, low and pleading.

“wanna taste you. been thinking about it since the day you made me take photos of you in that tiny bikini with your polaroid on the beach.”

you didn’t argue with that and let him guide you up his chest. letting his lips brush your skin the whole way up, until your thighs framed his face and your knees sank into the mattress on either sides of his head.

his hands gripped your hips, eyes looking up to meet yours as he exhaled, “let me take care of you too.”

he barely gave you time to settle above him before he was pulling you down hard. his grip tightening around your thighs, dragging you fully down onto his mouth, his tongue already parting you before you could even exhale.

your gasp nearly hit the ceiling, luigi wasnt soft nor gentle, he was hungry.

he moaned into you like he was starving— like just the taste of you was enough to keep him alive. his mouth moved so recklessly, tongue licking broad, wet stripes before curling into where you needed him most, lips sealing around you in a filthy, perfect kiss.

you tried to lift yourself just slightly, just enough to catch your breath but his arms locked tighter around your thighs, pinning you down against him.

“luigi—“

you barely got his name out before— crack!

his palm landed a sharp slap to your ass. not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind you he was in control right now.

your whole body jolted, letting out a surprised moan as you instinctively ground yourself down harder against his mouth and started grinding. slow at first, trying to find the perfect rhythm, and then faster and messier, as he just let you ride him, his pretty nose nudging against your clit.

he sucked, licked, devoured.

“fuck baby— you’re so good.” you moaned, voice shaking as your fingers tangled themselves in his curls, tugging hard.

“you’re making me feel so fucking good— i can’t—“ and he groaned under you, the sound vibrating against your pussy, making your thighs clamp tighter around his head. and still, he didn’t let up.

just kept licking like a man possessed, grip tightening, strong hands digging into your thighs, keeping you locked in place.

your body was trembling, skin flushed, that heat ready to snap— and luigi knew it.

and right when you were teetering, mouth hung open and breath stuttering— his lips latched onto your clit.

not soft or teasing, just purely desperate.

he sucked hard, his tongue flicking mercilessly, drawing fast, tight circles that made your vision go white.

“oh—fuck—luigi!”

the loudest moan tore out of you, sharp, raw, and damn near broken as the pleasure slammed into you. your thighs crammed around him, fingers yanking on his hair, hips jerking uncontrollably as your orgasm hit with a violent force.

and he held you there, through every gasp, twitch, and tremble. sucking, licking, chasing every last drop of your cum like he couldn’t fathom letting any of it going to waste.

even as your body gave out and you tried to pull away— he didn’t let you. he stayed there, moaning into you, drunk on your release.

your body still trembling when he released the tight grip he had on you, letting your thighs relax, pressing soft, tender kisses along the inside of your legs. and when you looked down at him, he was already watching you with wide eyes, swollen lips, and cheeks tinted pink.

“c’mere,” he whispered. barely having the strength to move, but you wanted to be close, needing it. you climbed down slowly and he met you half way— sitting up, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you into his lap.

your chests pressed together and noses brushing as your foreheads touched, “you okay?” he murmured, stroking his thumb over your hip.

“yeah,” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. “are you?”

he smiled, just a little, “never been better.”

your lips met again, slow as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, and your waist— like he couldn’t get enough of you.

and as your hips instinctively shifted against him, he let out the softest groan against your mouth. you felt him, already hard and ready, pressing against your pussy.

he reached down, lining himself up carefully, and you sank down on him, both of you letting out content sighs. both stilling for a moment, getting adjusted.

and then slowly, you began to move, grinding, rocking, and meeting him half way every time he lifted his hips. his hands held your waist to anchor himself in the moment, just feeling all of you.

your name left his lips like a prayer and your moans soft and breathy as your bodies rocked against each other in perfect rhythm.

your lips brushed over his jaw as your hips rolled against his, “you feel so good,” you whispered against his skin. “So deep…”

luigi groaned, tightening his arms around you, the sound buried in your shoulder, “you’re fucking perfect, pussy’s so fucking tight.” he breathed, voice low and thick.

his hands slid from your waist down to the small of your back, guiding you gently, helping you move just right— until his cock hit that sweet spot inside you that made your body jolt.

“yeah? right there?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of ear.

you nodded, nails lightly digging into his shoulders. “yes—right there, baby.”

he adjusted his angle slightly, and then a slow, precise thrust upward, so deep. and it hit, your whole body clenching around him, and your moan came out softer, higher than before.

he pulled back just enough to get a good look at you, eyes glassy, lips swollen, and tits littered in love bites. your forehead pressed to his, your bodies meeting in such an intimate rhythm.

“you make me feel so good, so full,” you whispered, barely able to speak through the heat pooling low in your stomach.

he kissed you, harder this time and then he took over, just a little. guiding your hips with one hand while the other slid down to hold your thigh as he angled his next thrust perfectly into that soft, sensitive spot inside you.

“there we go,” he rasped, dragging his lips along your neck.

“let me take care of you, baby. let me give you everything.”

his rhythm had started to slow, a bit overwhelmed. from the way your body clung to his, from how tight, how wet, how delicious you felt wrapped around him. his head dipped to your shoulder, breath ragged against your skin, big hands grasping your hips attempting to ground himself.

but you felt ready now, your body humming with energy again—refueled by every groan, every helpless twitch of his hips, and every shaky breath that tumbled from his lips.

so you started to move. a soft bounce at first, just enough to shift the angle, taking in more of him. then another. then faster. luigi gasped, back arching slightly, eyes squeezing shut as you rode him with more control.

your lips hovered near his ear, voice warm and broken in between moans, “you’re so deep inside me, gi...” he let out the quietest whimper, hands trembling against your skin.

“so big… stretching me so good. you feel it, don’t you? how wet you make me?”

he could barely speak, just nodded. barely.

and then—click. the door handle turned.

your bodies froze, just for a second, before luigi pulled you tighter against him, shielding you, even as your hips never faltered.

“yo luigi! how you holding up man?” a familiar voice called through the narrow crack in the door. he hadn’t fully stepped inside, just peeked the door open a few inches, only being able to see the edge of the bed and maybe luigi’s bare shoulder. the rest, being you fully naked and still grinding in his lap, was completely hidden by the angle.

luigi’s eyes blew wide, his breath catching in his throat.

“you—you gotta stop,” he hissed into your neck, biting back groan. “please—“

you leaned in, brushing your mouth against his ear, voice was sweet as candy while your hips rolled again, deep and slow.

“answer him.”

“let him hear how good you’re feeling.”

luigi’s hand flew to your waist, attempting to still you, but it was no use.

“i—uh,” he choked out, voice shaking. “yeah—i’m good man, just resting.”

his friend paused, “cool, just making sure. let us know if you need anything.”

you didn’t let him get a chance to recover. the second the door clicked shut, you pushed him backwards, your palms resting on his chest as you eased him down against the bed, his eyes still wide and wrecked under you.

his head hit the pillow, curls sticking to his forehead, and his chest heaving as you straddled him fully again.

“you’ve been so good,” you whispered, voice shaking with need. “but now i need more.”

and then you started to really move. your thighs burned as you began bouncing harder, hips slapping against his with wet desperate sounds, so intense, overwhelming, and fast. luigi’s hands scrambled to hold you, his fingers digging into your waist like he might slip through the bed if he didn’t anchor himself to you.

“f-fuck baby—“ he gasped, voice breaking. “that’s—too much—“ but he didn’t stop you.

he bent his knees suddenly, feet flat on the mattress and thrusted up. hard. your whole body jolted, a choked moan spilling out of your mouth as he met your bounces with the same fervor. each thrust slammed deeper and harder, matching the way you rode him until all that could be heard was skin slapping and both of you chanting each other’s names over and over.

“yesyesyes—lu, just like that—“ you cried out as he fucked up into you like he was trying to split you open from the inside.

“you feel so fucking good,” he groaned, eyes hazy and voice raw. “such a tight little pussy amore— so perfect, can’t even hold back anymore.”

your movements became sloppier, desperation seeping through, your bodies completely lost in each other. just full of need. just you and him, chasing that sweet finish with matching desperation.

your name tumbled from his mouth in broken gasps, sweat slicking his chest where your bodies met, the heat between you two unbearable in the most delicious way.

and then his voice cracked out, desperate and strained, “i—fuck—i should probably pull out.” but his hips never slowed, because he didn’t really mean it and you both knew it. you leaned forward, pressing your chest to his, mouth by his ear as you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist.

“don’t,” you begged, breath heavy and hot. “i wanna feel you. want you to stay inside me.”

his groan was guttural, almost pained with how badly he had been waiting for that permission.

“fuck—fuck—“

your nails dragged down his back, your body grinding back into every one of his thrusts, and then everything shattered.

you came first, gasping, shaking, clinging to him like you wouldn’t survive without him.

“luigi—oh god baby, don’t stop—don’t—“

he followed instantly, crying out your name into your neck, hips buried to the hilt as he spilled inside you, his body trembling beneath yours as the outside world faded away.

your bodies stayed tangled for a while, skin to skin, limbs loose, and breathing slowly coming back down. the room was quiet now, except for the soft hum of the ocean breeze drifting through the balcony door.

luigi’s heartbeat thudded gently beneath your cheek as you laid against his chest your fingers tracing absentminded shapes against his ribs. eventually, he shifted beneath you, careful and slow, kissing your shoulder as he murmured, “be right back.”

he slid out from the bed with a little wince, his legs shaky and muscles drained. you watched with a sleepy smile as he padded naked across the room, grabbing a small towel from the bathroom and returning a moment later.

“here,” he whispered, eyes soft as he knelt between your legs and cleaned you up. “i got you.”

your heart fluttered.

luigi had already crawled back into bed, arms stretched behind his head, eyes half-lidded and warm as he looked at you with a soft, post-bliss smile.

you sat up slowly, reaching for the bikini top that wads left at the edge of the bed. “i should probably head back to my room,” you murmured, voice gentle. “so you can rest comfortably…”

you didn’t even get to finish your sentence when his arm reached out fast, firm as his fingers curled gently around your wrist to stop you.

“what?” he asked, brown furrowed slightly as he tugged you back down towards him.

“baby no.”

you blinked as he guided you back into his arms, your body slotting effortlessly into the space next to his.

“i wanna rest here,” he whispered, lips brushing your shoulder.

“with you.”

your heart skipped a beat as he tugged the covers up, over both your naked bodies. he nuzzled into your chest, one arm round your waist, the other lazily cupping one of your tits.

“m’tired,” he murmured. “wouldn’t be smart of you to leave your patient alone away.”

your fingers threaded into his curls, your other one rubbing up and down his spine.

“how’s your back?” you asked softly.

“feels perfect,” he mumbled, voice already dying down. “because you’re here with me.”

within seconds, his breath evened out, warm against your skin. and you were left with a sleeping, heavy luigi tangled into your bare body, like his life depended on it.

Working Hard or Hardly Working? — Luigi Mangione

Summary: You’re spending the afternoon in your college boyfriend Luigi’s dorm. He’s focused on homework, as always—but as his first girlfriend, you’ve learned when a little break might be worth it.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: EXPLICIT, foreplay/non-penetrative sex, oral (m! receiving), not fully proofread & revised, writer lost their fic virginity while composing this

A/N: Please note that this is my first time writing smut in any real detail, despite all my years of reading and writing. Any feedback or insight is deeply appreciated—it helps keep writers going! A special thank you to @fligniuz and @bambimangione for genuinely inspiring me lately with their incredible recent works and motivating me to finally sit down and write this. Study the greats, and become even greater!

“Luigi, just take a break already,” you sighed, leaning over his desk chair, your hands resting on the joint of his shoulders.

His eyes were locked on the laptop screen, the luminescence of his physics homework casting a soft light across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his thick-rimmed, square blue light glasses.

“Five more minutes, I swear,” he muttered under his breath, fingers still tapping rapidly at the keyboard, his thoughts racing in a whirlwind of formulas and laws as he focused intensely on whatever complex calculation he was trying to solve.

Rolling your eyes, your patience thinned with every excuse he threw your way—this, that, and the third. Of course, he just needed five more minutes, as promised, not by just any Taurus, but a May-born male Taurus like Luigi himself: undoubtedly loyal, tirelessly hardworking, but also annoyingly, impossibly stubborn—just like the Taurean bull.

“Five minutes? You said that twenty minutes ago. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Sliding one of your hands down his arm, your fingers brushing over his wrist, he finally paused, stopping in his tracks and pulling out of his thought process, his shoulders stiffening under your touch. When he turned his head to look at you, his face was flushed—that kind of flushed. The kind that told you he wasn’t just thinking about differential equations anymore, and maybe, despite having his watch right on his left wrist where he could see it in that exact moment whenever he needed to check time, he was losing his track of time for once.

And for once, though it nearly pained him to admit it, you were right.

“Okay,” he sighed, knowing better than to object any further, as you had made your point, almost shyly aware that you were right and he, in fact, was wrong. He closed the laptop with a soft click, then pushed his chair back and turned to face you fully, becoming yours for the time being. “You’re right. I need a break.”

The moment his lips met yours, the air in the room seemed to shift. His kiss was clumsy at first, hesitant, as if he was unsure whether he was doing it right—doing it right, in terms of kissing a girl. You didn’t mind; you never did. At times, it was endearing how hard he tried to please you, even when he wasn’t entirely sure how to express his affection for you, as your boyfriend, through romantic gestures. You intensified the kiss, gently lifting your hands to cradle his boyish face, the tips of your thumb and pointer fingers brushing along his cheekbones. He eagerly reciprocated, his hands locating the figure of your waist and drawing you closer.

Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel the warmth of him radiating through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with your own. His hands wandered along your back, almost loveshy at first, fingertips ghosting over the fabric like he was memorizing the shape of you—before they grew bolder, more certain, as the kiss deepened into something far more than a long-awaited, overdue break from homework. You had been right all along: he definitely needed a break. As often as Luigi considered himself to be a remarkably bright and intelligent young man—now attending an Ivy League school as an undergraduate, pursuing a degree in computer science, ever the precocious child with a knack for all things science-y—he accepted that, not too long ago, he’d been a complete idiot for not stepping away from his desk sooner. Unlike many men, Luigi seemed to understand that women are often right and deserve your full attention. Somehow, you always caught his like a big fish on a line. And now, he couldn’t believe he had stayed so focused on the assignment with you right there in his room, stretched out on his dorm bed, looking as stunning as ever, and on top of that, as his girlfriend. The space separating you grew heavier, heavy with unspoken want, the kind that made every inch of your skin feel electric, galvanic, and exciting like a lightning bolt amidst the life cycle of a thunderstorm, ready to snap at any given moment.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see him, to really see him. His glasses were fogged from your breath, cheeks tinged with the softest blush, and his lips were parted in stunned awe, kiss-bitten and eager. He looked adorable—unapologetically nerdy in the best way possible. Without thinking, you reached up, cupping his face in both hands, your thumbs stroking the apples of his cheeks. Your fingers curled behind his ears, grounding him, pulling him closer. His breath hitched as your touch anchored him in the moment. Then, without hesitation, you brought his face back to yours and kissed him again—this time with certainty, with affection, with the delight lying in the repose of knowing that he was yours, and you were his, and that you were the first girl to ever hold his heart like this.

“Hey,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his glasses before sliding them off the bridge of his nose and setting them on the desk. “You’re overthinking again. Relax. It’s just us.”

It was true. It was just the two of you, in that moment in his dorm, all alone, with nothing to worry about regarding his roommate returning for the rest of the day or, for that matter, the whole weekend.

But in spite of that, you were the first girl ever to have him wrapped around your finger, and therefore, the first girlfriend he ever dated in all his nineteen years of living.

He nodded, his hands still gripping your waist like he feared you would disappear like simple arthimetic flying into his head, without a trance, if he let go. You beamed, leaning in to kiss him again, your tongue toying with his, as his breath faltered, and a soft groan escaped him, the sound vibrating through your chest. The ardor between you strengthened, his body responding as if your kiss had awakened something profound within him. His hands firmly clasped your waist, as his initial nervousness transformed into an undeniable yearning—a fervor that kindled between you both, drawing you ever closer.

You withdrew slightly to take his hand, directing him to rise from his chair. With a gentle smile, you led him to his twin bed, your fingers interwoven as you sat beside him. Before either of you could utter another word, your lips met once more, the kiss rekindling with a heightened need as if the very act of each other's proximity had sparked a passion neither of you could ignore or control.

Luigi’s hands trembled as they slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your waist. His breath was uneven, and his heart pounded so loudly that you could almost hear it. You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as you perfected your intimacy together of prolonging your kiss and caressing each other’s bodies. His inexperience, or its lack thereof with the opposite sex, was sweet as his innocence, and how he hesitated, unsure of how far to take things to the next base, only made him more irresistible. While he struggled to express his desires and needs clearly, it was evident that he yearned for something beyond what he had ever experienced, and he would go to any lengths for you.

“You can touch me, you know,” you hinted, pulling back just enough to see the flush spread across his cheeks. His brown eyes widened, and he gulped. “I’m yours, Luigi. All of me.”

You reached for the hem of your shirt and slipped it over your head, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.

He ceased his actions, taking in the gravity of your words. Gradually, his hands traveled up, lightly gliding over your rib cage until they brushed against the underside of your breasts. The warmth emanated from his skin, and his fingers fidgeted with uncertainty. He glanced up at you, his lips parted, and you nodded encouragingly.

“Go on,” you pressed. “They’re yours to touch. Yours to feel.”

For a second, he faltered, shifting his gaze from your features to the curvaceous contour of your chest. With a breath that trembled, he enveloped your breasts in his large hands, his thumbs lightly tracing the fabric of your bra. With a delicate exhale, your body reacted to his tender touch, and you realized how his eyes reflected a deep longing to touch you. As he absorbed this new knowledge of appreciating the femininity of a woman and ventured into the unknown of pleasuring her, the way he gazed at you—like you were the most valuable treasure he had ever encountered—sent your heart into a frenzy.

“Can I…”

His voice faded, but you understood precisely what he meant.

“Yes,” you said immediately, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra. “You can.”

He followed closely, wholly captivated by your cleavage as you unhooked it, his breath catching when the fabric fell away, revealing your breasts to him for the first time. His jaw dropped, and his eyes widened in astonishment, feasting on the sight, likely matching the exact measurements of your bra size. Judging by appearances, it seemed your back must have ached at times from the rack you carried. His hands fidgeted beside him, seemingly unsure about making contact with the most generous pair of breasts he’d ever encountered, lost in the sauce of what to do next. Now, you weren’t naïve when it came to your personal assets—you’d caught Luigi sneaking glances at your chest more times than you could count, especially on days like today, when you intentionally wore a tight-fitting white t-shirt, knowing curiosity might just kill the cat.

Overjoyed by the moment, you smirked and reached out, guiding his hands back onto your chest where they belonged.

“They’re yours, Luigi,” you voiced it once more, your words dripping with allure, resonating with a yearning that paralleled his. “Put them in your mouth. I want you to suck on them.”

His pupils dilated, those big hands gripping your breasts firmly as he leaned in. His breath was warm upon your skin, and you could perceive the tension all in his physique, the manner in which he was restraining himself. With a moan, he latched onto one of your nipples, his tongue tasting the sensitive bud.

You gasped, your back arching as pleasure coursed through you. His mouth felt invitingly warm, and his tongue began with a gentle exploration, gaining more confidence as the moments unfolded. His hands kneaded your breasts, like they were manhandling raw dough, his fingers squeezing as he sucked, and you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s it,” you panted, your voice quaking with desire. “Oh baby, just like that…”

Obeying immediately, his mouth closed once more, firmly this time around your nipple as he sucked harder, his tongue swirling in circles that sent sparks of pleasure through your body. His other hand moved to your other one, his thumb rolling over the nipple in time with the rhythm of his mouth. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, watching him suckling on your tit like a young needing it for nourishment, causing your mind to spiral.

“God, Luigi,” you moaned, your hips grinding against the mattress as his mouth worked absolute wonders, engulfing your nipple, areola, and most of your breast. “You’re so good at this. So good.”

He hesitated briefly, his lips shimmering with your essence, his eyes laden with desire. “I… I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted. “I love them.”

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re perfect,” ​​you cooed, your thumb tracing over his lower lip, separating them apart, turning him into a man of submission as he looked into the eyes of his woman. “Now, don’t stop. I want you to keep going.”

He needed no second prompting. His mouth claimed your other breast, his tongue lapping up your nipple in long, languid licks before he pulled it into his mouth, hands continuing to knead and squeeze your soft flesh. A louder moan escaped you, your legs instinctively parting as the growing pleasure surged within.

His movements became bolder, more assured, as though he were uncovering a new side of himself—a side that longed for your body, eager to worship every inch of you. His mouth was insistent, his tongue teasing, tasting, while his hands roamed freely, exploring, caressing, and claiming you as his own.

“Lu,” you breathed, straining with desire.

He groaned against your skin, his grip tightening around your breasts as he sucked harder, his tongue flicking over your nipples in a way that made you see stars. The tension coiled deep in your core, pleasure rising fast toward its peak, and you knew he felt it too, sensed every subtle shift in your body as it responded to him.

Luigi’s lips were still wrapped around your nipple, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles, when you felt his body tense. His hands, which had been kneading your breasts with an almost desperate need, stilled for a moment. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his breathing had become uneven, shallow. His arousal was palpable, thick in the air between you, and it made your own body ache with want.

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his dark hair, tugging him back so you could look into his eyes. They were dark, almost black with desire, and his lips had swelled from the overuse of his lip muscles persistently suckling.

“Luigi,” you said. “Do you want to try something else?”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Something else?” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, and you traced a finger along his jaw, feeling the clean-shaven, supple olive skin there. “I mean,” you shrugged your shoulders. “do you want to try fucking them?”

​​His eyes practically bulged out of his skull, and you could see the exact moment the realization hit him. His gaze dropped to your breasts, still cradled in his hands, and his Adam’s apple hit against the front of his neck as he swallowed hard. “You mean… with my dick?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, your smile growing wider. “Yes.”

For a spell, he looked at you as if the very sight of you had stolen the air from his lungs—his gaze a storm of awe, wonder, and something unspoken that stirred beneath the surface, wild and ancient, like a flame catching wind. Like any other geek, it was safe to say that the portal in his brain crashed and his mind short-circuited. Without warning, he practically ripped his boxers and pants off all at once, the fabric pooling around his ankles in a heap. His cock sprang free, hard and throbbing. You couldn’t help but admire it, your heart taking a sudden plunge into your stomach.

In Luigi’s case, you know what they always say: big nose, big hands, big feet, and a big co—

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of wetness between your legs as you looked up at him. “Hold on,” you assured. “Let me help you.”

You reached down, wrapping your hands around your breasts and squeezing them together, molding them into a tight, inviting channel of soft, warm flesh for him to thrust into. Leaning forward slightly, you gathered a thick string of spit on your tongue and let it fall from your lips, watching it drip onto your cleavage and trail down between your breasts, leaving a glistening, slippery path just for him. He desperately whimpered at the sight, his eyes locking onto the mess you’d made just for him. Your nipples brushed against each other, sending shivers of pleasure through your body, and you could feel the heat of his cock as he moved closer, his tip brushing against the soft skin of your cleavage.

“Like this,” you instructed. “Just slide it in between them. Slowly at first.”

Luigi nodded, his jaw clenched tight as he guided his cock toward your breasts. The moment the head of his dick touched your skin, he let out a low, throaty groan, his hips jerking forward like an autonomic response. You could feel the way his body trembled, the way he struggled to hold back, to keep his movements controlled.

“That’s it,” you incited. “Just like that. You’re doing so good, baby.”

He slid his cock deeper, the thick length of him pressing against your breasts, and you could feel the way he pulsed with need. His hands gripped your shoulders, holding on tight as he began to move, his hips rocking back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, your nipples rubbing against his shaft, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “This feels… so good.”

You moaned in agreement, your hands still holding your breasts together, the pressure of his cock sending waves of pleasure through you. “Yeah?” you asked breathlessly. “You like fucking me like this?”

He nodded frantically. “I… I never knew it could feel like this, it’s… fuck.”

You smiled, experiencing a surge of pride and joy from his words. “Mmm hmm,” you praised. “Just keep going. Let it feel good, baby.”

His movements grew faster, more frantic, and you could feel the way his cock throbbed against your skin. His hands tightened on your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust harder, deeper, his hips slamming against your breasts with a desperation that made your body ache with want. Your nipples were so hard they ached.

“I’m not… I’m not going to last long,” he warned, his face twisted in pleasure, losing absolute control of the muscles in his face.

“That’s okay. I want you to come—come on them.”

His hips stuttered, and with a low, guttural groan, he came, his cock pulsing as thick ropes of cum shot out, splattering across your chest and breasts. You could feel the heat of it, the way it coated your skin, and the sight of it, mixed with the sound of his moans, had tears gushing down the side of your thigh.

He just stood there, trembling like a leaf in a storm, his breath coming in ragged bursts as though the weight of the moment was too much for his body to contain. Sowly, he pulled back, his cock slipping free from between your breasts, and he looked down at you, his eyes wide with wonder.

His body jolted, shuddering, virtually breaking open beneath the weight of sensation. Knees gave way like cracking fault lines, as if the ground had slipped from under him, and he collapsed, breathless and unraveling. Tremors rolled through him, leaving him limp as he crumpled onto the bed, caught in the grip of his own undoing. Raspy breaths spilled from parted lips as he stared blankly at the ceiling, wide-eyed and dazed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened. Flushed and trembling, he lay still. His cock twitched against his stomach, the last flickers of release gleaming on his skin like stardust left in the wake of a supernova.

​​You studied him deciduously, a knowing smile creeping onto your face, and then crawled toward him. Every action was intentional and playful, made to heighten the suspense that existed between you. You positioned yourself in the space between his legs, your fingers smoothly moving along his thighs, sensing the tension in the muscles beneath your fingertips. While lingering there for a moment, you basked in the sensation of his heat radiating against your palms. Not only that, but you moved closer, your warm breath brushing against his skin as you placed a lingering, moist kiss on the sensitive inner part of his thigh. His body reacted with a shudder, a soft, quivering breath released,

“Luigi,” you purred. “I love you.”

You kissed him once more, this time higher, near the spot that remained quite sensitive, leaving him pulsating in rage.

“I want to make you feel good, too. Let me take care of you.”

He whimpered, a sound that was both vulnerable and filled with need, and his hips shifted slightly, along with his cock jittering. Even after everything, he was already so responsive, so eager for more. It was clear that titty fucking you had pushed him over the edge, but it had also awakened something deeper, something primal and insatiable.

You smiled against his skin, your kisses growing more purposeful as you trailed your lips closer to his cock. And surprisingly, his cock, still slick with traces of his earlier release, stood rigid and aching. You didn’t waste time. Every kiss was slow, wet, and deliberately filthy, crafted to make him squirm and whimper, right on the edge of sounding like a little bitch.

“You’re such a good boy, Gigi,” you hummed. “Can I put it in my mouth?”

His hands descended, fingers weaving through the strands of your hair, a tremor escaping his lips as he inhaled sharply, his entire body quivering with anticipation. “Please,” he squeaked. “Please, I just—”

Kisssiing the base of his cock, you felt it jerk against your lips, looking up at him with a soft, loving gaze. “Don’t worry, baby,” you promised. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

You leaned in slowly, breath fanning hot against the aching length of him, the tension in his body nearly palpable. A low tremor ran through him, his hands threading through your hair—clutching, desperate, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Your tongue flicked out to wet your lips, anticipation making your mouth water. Then, without another moment’s hesitation, you dipped forward and took the flushed tip of his cock between your lips, savoring the first taste of him.

Luigi gasped, his hips jerking slightly as your lips wrapped around him. You could feel the heat of his skin, the way he pulsed with need, and it only fueled your desire to please him. You swirled your tongue around the head, savoring the salty precum that had already started to bead at the tip. His breath hitched, and you could hear the faintest whimper escape his lips.

“Oh… oh god,” he moaned. “That’s… that’s so good.”

You hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. Encouraged by his reaction, you slowly took more of him into your mouth, your lips sliding down his shaft. You could feel him twitch against your tongue, and you devoured every inch of him that your mouth could consume, the way he filled your mouth so deliciously. With one hand, you stroked the base of his dick, your fingers massaging his balls, while the other hand rested on his thigh, feeling the tension in his muscles.

Now and then, you took a moment to look up at him, your lashes fluttering as you admired the sheer pleasure contorting his face in every direction. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard, and his eyes were half-lidded, caught between feeling immense ecstasy from getting his damn soul nearly sucked out of him and the disbelief that this was actually happening to him in real time. It was clear he had never experienced anything like this before, never even imagined that one day he would get dick sucked this soon in college—by none other than his own girlfriend—after taking a break from doing schoolwork and then ejaculating for the first time intimately ever all over her tits from fucking them. It thrilled you to be the one to show him just how good it could feel and how you were the first one to blow his brains out—quite literally.

You pulled back slightly, letting his cock slide out of your mouth, and then dove back down, taking him deeper this time. You could sense the pressure mounting within him, the way his body began to tremble, and you knew he was nearing the edge. But you wanted to make this last, particularly since this was the first time of ever being sexually intimate, to make sure it was everything he had ever dreamed of and more. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, teasing him, and then sucked gently, your cheeks hollowing as you worked him with your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t…” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hair tighter. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna come…”

You didn’t stop. Instead, you increased the pace, bobbing your head up and down his cock, your tongue lashing against the sensitive underside. It was no small wonder that he couldn't hold back, and inevitably, he would come. You could taste him, the way his precum coated your tongue, and it only made you more determined to push him over the edge. You hummed again, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, and you could feel his cock shiver in your mouth as he teetered on the brink of release.

“Please… please, I’m so close,” he whined, his toes curling inwards, barely able to hold on any longer. “I’m gonna… oh god, I think I’m gonna come—”

And then, with a shuddering moan, he did. If the other students on the floor in the residential hall didn't know that he busted all in your mouth before, they certainly did now. His body tensed, his hips bucking slightly as he emptied himself into your mouth. The taste was intense, salty, and somewhat sweet, and you swallowed and savored every last drop you could, daring not to let any of it go to waste. His hands fell from your hair, landing limply at his sides, and he let out a long, shaky breath, his body slumping back against the bed.

Quite literally and figuratively, Luigi was blown away—he was speechless, at a complete loss for words after what had just happened in the past few minutes.

Pleased with yourself, you smiled at your accomplishment, wiping your lips with the back of your hand before crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes still heavy with pleasure, and reached out to brush his knuckles against your face.

“I can’t believe you just did that… it felt so fucking good.”

“I’m glad,” you replied softly, full of affection. “I wanted to make sure it was special for you.”

He reached out, his fingers drawing across the curve of your jaw, and then he leaned in, pressing a little kiss to your lips. It was tender, overflowing with gratitude and longing, and you could feel the warmth of his affection wrapping around you.

“I love you,” he spoke softly, his lips brushing against yours. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back. “More than anything.”

He pulled you closer against his body, your head resting on his chest, his arms wrapping around you as you nestled into the cozy crook of his neck, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against you. The room cradled you in quietness, filled with the gentle sound of your breathing, and a beautiful sense of contentment washed over you, making everything feel just right.

However, little did you know, it wasn’t so much about what he hadn’t experienced yet, but more about all the things he wanted to try. If only you knew the thoughts running through Luigi's mind now, fueled by his newfound awareness of his heightened sex drive and his recent experiences that didn’t even involve penetrative sex, but still led to his first ever orgasms.

At first, he hesitated, unsure of how to translate his thoughts into action.

“Do you want to…?”

But beneath the uncertainty, you could hear the raw, unfiltered desire in his voice, a barely contained urgency that made your heart race.

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and were all smiles. “Whatever you want, Lu,” you ensured, upholding your promise from the very beginning. “We can do whatever you want.”

For a brief moment, his gaze sought yours, searching for confirmation that, however you wished to surrender to pure pleasure, you both shared the willingness and ability to take that next step together. He nodded, a shy smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I… I want to try something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his words. “What do you want to do?”

He inhaled deeply, his cheeks flushing ever so slightly, before leaning in close. His lips grazed your ear as he whispered his idea, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. A flame of lust smoldered in your core at the very thought of what he was suggesting.

Maybe he wasn’t as inexperienced and innocent as he seemed—well, as he had been.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you sure?”

He shook his head, his eyes brimming with determination. “I’m sure,” he reconfirmed. “I want to do this with you.”

You smiled, and your heart swelled with affection. “Then let’s do it,” you murmured, the mere thought inside your body just oozing with excitement about what was to come next. “Let’s try it right here, right now.”

Tag List: @daydreamingwithluigi @mailovesreading @wannabenugget @paolavallado @mangobabygirl @fancyyanci @briarloves @straw8erry @fligniuz

heeeeeey girl

so i’ve been thinking. thinking great beautiful amazing things. i don’t actually know how to talk about them because he makes being coherent #impossible !!! so that makes this a bit complicated… but vibes. your recent has me feeling dizzy and i need you to give us more. it’s what the people ( me ) want.

- 🧞‍♀️

well hello there again. i’m gonna hope ur talking ab ur recent ask ab inexperienced!lu making out for the first time haha but here is my very best at a first time drabble for you 💝💝💝

it was meant to be a study date.

being in each other’s presence helped you both focus. he was also intellectually equipped that you felt comfortable asking him for help when you needed it. even if it was for something small; he never judged you for it.

but really it was because you liked to hear his voice when he would explain terms to you. or how he would lean close that you could feel his breath tickle your neck. or how he would watch you inventively when he would make you work it out on your own (with his advice, of course).

you had done it again today. you watched his tongue slip between his lips as he read the math problem on your laptop screen. your stomach dropped levels, heat bubbling at the pit.

before he could even process what was going on, you leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his lips. he was just so cute and so kissable, it was impossibly hard not to just smooch him all over his face.

it surprised him, blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. he smiled, breathlessly chuckling. it was that act alone that had you leaning back in for another. him being shy and nervous only fueled your need for him.

this kiss lasted a lot longer than the first because you didn't want to let go. you didn't even want to pull away for air. quite honestly, you didn't mind suffocating to death if it meant you’d be kissing him forever. his lips were just so soft and his inexperience was so endearing.

you pulled away briefly but long enough for you two to catch your breath. you leaned your forehead against his, making him open his eyes. you could feel his tension and see the nervousness in his lack of actions.

“gi," you whispered, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek. “it’s okay.” as if to console the overthinking thoughts in his mind.

you leaned back in, taking that opportunity to slip your tongue between his lips. to your shock, he let out a breathy moan into your mouth. it physically made you nauseous in the best way possible.

now, you both took your time. mainly because luigi didn't know what he was doing and you were attempting at teaching him without the words.

you took the lead, holding his wrist. you played with his watch that he always wore as you tilted your head to feel his kisses even deeper. slowly, he started to get the hang of it but it still wasn't enough. his thumb traced circles into your skin as if to relieve his own tension.

but you needed more.

without much thought, you pushed his laptop off his lap and threw your leg over him, straddling him. you pulled away, gauging his reaction. his brows rose and his plumped lips pouted nervously.

“you’re so cute,” you mumble into his lips, leaning back in.

he, of course, didn't stop you. he continued to makeout with you until he pulled away suddenly, a loud sound coming from your lips separating. "this is okay, right?"

“of course, gi.” you giggle, leaning back in.

you kissed for a mere of three more seconds before he pulled away again, setting his hands tentatively on your hips. “this okay too?”

you smile softly. “yes, you’re fine.”

he hummed, this time being the one to pull you back into the kiss as he gripped your hips. your hand that held on to his neck slowly crept up into his curls to tug on them which solicited a groan from him.

you felt his hands roam around your back, almost hovering the spot you knew he wanted to touch the most. and, like you expected, he pulled away again. “can i–”

you interrupted him before he could finish. “you can do whatever, i promise, gi. just please keep kissing me.”

he seemed dazed in adoration at the desperation in your voice but you couldn’t help it. he just nodded, leaning back in and pulling you flush against him.

…heh.. how was that.. #scared 🫠🫠

😩😩😩😩

Wrong Time, Right Place

Pt1.

The last time she’d been in the Mangione house, she was nine, and someone had dared her to jump off the diving board.

She didn’t. She stood at the edge of the pool for what felt like an hour, heart hammering in her chest, goggles too tight against her face. Kathleen was laughing from the kitchen window, Luciana was sunbathing like a goddess on a striped towel, and Maria Santa had already done a backflip and was begging someone to “hurry up and go.”

She remembered Luigi too. Not as a boy she really knew—but as the kid who fixed things. Always barefoot, always squinting at something broken. He was quiet back then. Soft-spoken. Always carrying some piece of a gadget around with him. At some point that summer, he helped her dig a caterpillar out of a net and didn’t make fun of her when she cried. That was all she remembered. That, and the way the Mangione house smelled like lemon and rosemary, even when it rained.

Now she was 19, and back on that same porch. Only this time, she wasn’t here to swim or laugh or prove anything. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. She wasn’t even sure who she was lately. The door opened before she could knock. Her mom was already inside, calling out greetings like she’d never left. It was early summer, just past five, and Baltimore’s air had that heavy warmth to it, like the heat was sinking into the wood and staying there. She stood on the welcome mat with her duffel bag and her tote sliding off her shoulder, hair pulled into a lazy braid, lips dry, skin tight from the drive.

“Come on,” her mom called gently, waving her in. “Don’t just stand there.”

She stepped inside, and it hit her like it always did. The smell. Garlic and oil. Faint citrus. Something sweet baking in the oven. And the music, some old Italian record humming low from the dining room stereo, like the whole house had a pulse. For a second, her body didn’t know how to relax. It had been on edge for weeks. Finals. Projects. A roommate breakup that wasn’t even romantic but still felt like one. And the boy.

God. The boy. The one who kissed her like she was a secret and left her like one too.She hadn’t cried about him. Not really. But she hadn’t slept much since, either.bAnd now here she was. In a house she barely remembered but always missed. Kathleen appeared first, wiping her hands on a towel, smiling like she meant it. “You’re taller.”

“I’m literally the same height,” she said, setting her bag down. But her face cracked into a grin anyway.Kathleen pulled her in. It wasn’t one of those fake hugs. It was real, warm, tight, like she hadn’t just seen her grow up through Instagram. “I’m so happy you’re here,” she said into her hair. “You’re staying as long as you need. Okay? No pressure to be anything.”

That almost made her cry. She blinked it back. The kitchen was chaos in the best way. Luciana was barefoot on the counter, swiping wine from a bottle and yelling about how someone stole her favorite candle. Maria Santa was chopping tomatoes with a toddler balanced on her hip, pretending she wasn’t doing three things at once. Her mom was already laughing with Louis, Luigi’s dad, who was by the stove stirring a pot of red sauce and shaking his head fondly at the noise around him.

“This house,” her mom muttered, squeezing her shoulder, “I swear, it hasn’t changed since we were your age.”

And for the first time in weeks, she smiled and meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

They gave her Luciana’s old room. The one with the yellow walls and the creaky fan. It smelled like rose water and faded perfume. There was a bookshelf by the bed with random paperbacks and one photo of the three siblings taped to the wall—Luigi, Maria Santa, and Luciana, probably in high school, grinning at something off-camera. She unpacked slowly, half-listening to the sound of voices downstairs. Her mom had wandered off to help with something in the backyard. The Mangione sisters were still in the kitchen bickering like it was a sport. It was nice. No one was asking her to perform. No one was demanding to know how she was doing or expecting her to talk about school. She was just here. And that was enough for now. When she came back down, it was golden hour. Light spilling through the windows, Luciana now dancing in the dining room with a half-drunk glass of wine, Maria Santa setting the table, Kathleen humming along to the music with a dish towel slung over her shoulder.

“There she is,” Luciana called out. “We were about to send a search party.”

“She was unpacking,” Maria Santa said, smiling at her softly. “Let her breathe.”

“She can breathe while chopping basil,” Luciana joked, already pulling her by the wrist into the kitchen.

They handed her a cutting board and made room for her at the island. It was loud. Lively. Plates clattered, someone opened a bottle too fast and sprayed the counter, and Kathleen shooed everyone away from the oven like she had secrets to protect.

“You look so much like your mom,” Maria Santa said, dicing garlic. “But your mouth is all your dad’s. Sharp.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Luciana gasped. “She talks back! I love her.”

“She’s not quiet anymore,” Kathleen said proudly, pouring olive oil into a skillet. “She’s got fire now.”

She blushed a little. But it felt good. It felt like being seen.She wasn’t used to people celebrating the parts of her she didn’t have to hide. The back door creaked open, letting in the faint sound of cicadas and the warm breath of early evening air. The kitchen was already buzzing,Maria Santa stirring something on the stove, Luciana holding court with a glass of wine, and Kathleen rummaging through the fridge with her whole body like she was wrestling it.

She didn’t notice him right away. Not until Kathleen called out, casually, “Lu, tell your father to stop poking the sausages. They need to sear, not suffer.” And then he laughed. That sound, low, easy, familiar in a way she didn’t expect made her look up. He was standing in the doorway like he belonged to it. White linen shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled once, skin warm and tanned from the sun. His hair was short, dark, cleanly styled, like he’d combed it once that morning and hadn’t touched it since. His jaw was a little sharper than she remembered. His smile, somehow softer. He looked like he smelled like sea salt and warm cotton. Like he’d been outside all day fixing something just because someone asked. Like the kind of man who wasn’t trying to be the center of attention, but always ended up there anyway. His eyes moved across the room,briefly, casually until they found hers And stopped. It was quiet, just between them. The kind of moment that doesn’t interrupt anything but still makes the air feel different. His brow twitched like he was trying to place her, then smoothed when it clicked.

“You grew up,” he said, not surprised. Just quietly impressed.

“So did you,” she replied, heartbeat climbing way too fast.

He smiled, tilted his head. “You’re not still afraid of the deep end, are you?”

She huffed out a breath. “Only when I’m tired.”

Kathleen’s voice cut through before he could respond. “Luigi, baby, grab the wine from the table and make yourself useful.”

He stepped past her, giving her a nod so subtle it barely counted, and moved toward the counter like he hadn’t just knocked the wind out of her. But before he reached the sink, he glanced back. Not to say anything. Just to look. And she wasn’t sure what kind of look it was—curious, familiar, maybe something else—but it landed in her chest and stayed there, warm and buzzing beneath her skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun was just beginning to slip behind the trees when Kathleen announced dinner like it was a holiday. “Everyone out back! Shoes optional, opinions not.”

She followed the flow of bodies onto the patio, arms brushing shoulders, plates clinking, Luciana already halfway through a dramatic retelling of a Tinder date that ended in an emergency room. The long wooden table was set with mismatched chairs and wine glasses that didn’t match either. Candles flickered low, napkins were folded but already sliding out of place, and everything smelled like roasted tomatoes, lemon zest, and summer. She didn’t know where to sit. Her mom had found a seat next to Louis, deep in conversation about property taxes, and Maria Santa was balancing her toddler in one arm while waving a fork in the other. She hesitated at the edge of it all, unsure where she fit—until she felt someone step beside her.

“Here,” Luigi said, quietly, nodding to the last empty chair.

Next to him.

She glanced at it, then at him. He was already sliding into his seat, one arm resting lazily along the back of the chair beside his. Like it had always been meant for her.

She sat. Close enough that their knees almost touched under the table.

The food came in waves. Bread, salad, pasta. Kathleen moved like a magician between courses, and Luciana was already tipsy enough to declare herself “a saint for helping with the dishes later.”

Conversations layered around her like music—half-heard stories, laughter that built without warning, forks scraping against plates. It was loud and warm and beautiful in the kind of way you forget you need. And then Luigi leaned in. Not dramatically. Just enough that his shoulder brushed hers.

“So,” he said, eyes still on his plate, voice low enough that no one else could hear, “are you actually here for the summer, or did someone bribe you?”

She took a sip of her wine before answering. “Little of both.”

He smiled, slow. “I figured. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“Like your brain’s still somewhere else.”

She turned to him. “And you don’t?”

His grin widened, but he didn’t argue. A pause settled between them. Not awkward just full. Like neither of them was in a rush to ruin it.

“I forgot how loud your family is,” she said finally, glancing at Luciana now singing backup vocals to the music playing through a tiny Bluetooth speaker. Luigi laughed into his glass. “That’s their quiet setting. You should hear them at Christmas.”

“I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

She found herself smiling without thinking. It was easy, being near him. He didn’t talk too much. Didn’t force it. But every now and then, he said something that made her feel like he really saw her. Not the version she was pretending to be. Just her. Kathleen came by and topped off their glasses. Luciana shouted across the table to say she looked “suspiciously good in this lighting,” and someone dropped a spoon that clattered like thunder. But all she could feel was the weight of his gaze when she looked down. Their arms touched again when they both reached for the bread. Neither of them moved away.

By the time dessert was cleared, the sky had turned completely dark. The candles on the patio burned low, flickering against empty wine glasses and half-finished plates, catching in the gold of Luciana’s earrings as she waved a fork dramatically and told a story she’d clearly told before. Her mom was yawning into her sleeve. Maria Santa had her youngest slumped against her shoulder, fast asleep, curls tangled and cheeks sticky with tiramisu. Louis stood to help her carry him in, and one by one, the others began drifting back into the house—laughing, brushing crumbs from laps, stretching their arms above their heads like the night itself had worn them out. She stood too, unsure where to go. Luciana kissed her on the cheek without warning and whispered, “You’re handling us beautifully.”

She smiled, a little dazed. “I used to think this family was loud.”

“Oh, honey,” Luciana said, looping her arm around her waist for a quick squeeze, “we’re just getting started.”

Inside, the kitchen was quieter now. Dimmer, too only the warm under-cabinet lighting left on, making the marble counters glow softly. There was a stack of dishes in the sink, a tray of burnt lemon rinds, and a towel half-crumpled near the sink like someone had given up mid-clean. She lingered there a moment, just taking it in. It was rare to see a kitchen like this when it wasn’t full of voices. When the energy had settled and you could finally hear your own breathing.

Then she heard footsteps behind her.

“Leave them,” Luigi said, his voice lower now, softer without the buzz of dinner around them. “You’re a guest.”

She turned. He was rolling up his sleeves further, collar still open, curls a little tousled from the humidity outside. He looked… relaxed. Like the night had worn him in all the right ways.

“So are you,” she said.

He reached past her for a dish and grinned. “I live here half the year. That makes me an unpaid employee.”

She hesitated, then grabbed the towel and bumped her hip lightly against his. “Fine. Then I’m your assistant.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You gonna dry?”

“If you wash.”

“Deal.”

And just like that, they found a rhythm. He washed slowly, carefully, like someone who knew how to do it right—rinsing twice, stacking neatly. She dried, hands brushing his a few times too many. Neither of them mentioned it. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… charged. Familiar in a way she hadn’t expected. Every now and then, he’d say something—point out that Luciana had hidden an untouched shrimp under her napkin or that Louis always left the forks for last. Small things. Observations. He noticed things. She liked that.

“You used to be scared of this kitchen,” he said suddenly, glancing at her with a little smirk.

“Only because Luciana threatened to throw me in the oven once.”

He laughed, deep in his chest. “She’s gotten nicer.”

“She gave me wine and called me hot. I’m terrified.”

He handed her a plate and looked at her a little longer than necessary. “She’s not wrong.”

She paused. The towel stilled in her hands. He didn’t look away. His expression didn’t change. And she wasn’t sure what to say—if she should joke, deflect, or pretend like her pulse didn’t just skip—but before she could decide, he turned back to the sink.

The moment passed. Quietly.

But it stayed there between them.

Humming.

By the time the last dish was done, her hands smelled like lemon and soap, and she was a little dizzy,but not from the wine. He wiped the counter with the back of his wrist and leaned against it, arms folded.

“You’re different,” he said softly.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

A pause.

Then, like he couldn’t help it: “In a good way.”

Something in her chest tightened. The kind of ache that wasn’t sad. Just full. Before she could respond, Kathleen’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Luigi, don’t leave her alone in there. Give her the tour or something.”

He didn’t move. Just looked at her.

“You want the tour?” he asked.

“Only if it includes snacks.”

He smiled.

And led her out of the kitchen.

He didn’t really give her a tour. He started in the hallway, pointed vaguely toward a guest bathroom, then made some joke about Luciana’s old room being cursed—which, judging by the crooked closet door and permanent smell of vanilla lotion, might not have been far off.But after that, it was quiet. They walked slowly, barefoot on cool tile, the house creaking softly around them like it was falling asleep. Voices had dimmed behind bedroom doors. Her mom had gone to bed. Even the music had stopped. It was just them. He led her toward the back of the house, the older part,where the windows were thinner, the light more golden. The walls here were lined with photos, decades of family birthdays and anniversaries and blurry Christmas mornings.They paused in front of one without speaking. It was him,probably sixteen, holding a sparkler, grinning with cake frosting on his shirt.

“I looked like I had no idea what to do with myself,” he said, voice low, eyes on the frame.

“You looked like you were trying really hard not to smile.”

“I probably was.”

She tilted her head. “You were kind of quiet back then.”

“I’m still quiet,” he said, glancing at her. “People just stopped pointing it out.”

They stood there for a second too long. Then she shifted, brushing a finger along the edge of the photo frame.

“I used to love this hallway,” she said softly. “When I was little, I’d walk back and forth during parties pretending I was going somewhere. Just to be around it. The noise. The energy.”

He looked at her. Really looked.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now I think I came here to be around it without being in it.”

Luigi nodded slowly, like he got it. Like maybe he felt that way sometimes too.Then he turned, opened the last door on the right.The back den. She remembered it as the TV room,low couch, dark wood shelves, the leftover blankets always balled up in the corner. It looked the same now. Familiar. Safe. He stepped inside, but didn’t turn on the light. Just reached for the lamp in the corner and let it cast that soft amber glow across the room. She stood in the doorway for a second. He sat on the edge of the couch, leaned forward on his knees, looking out the window into the dark. She joined him, curling one leg under the other, the cushion dipping between them. Neither of them spoke for a moment.The quiet wasn’t empty. It pulsed with unsaid things. She turned her head toward him.

“You’re easier to talk to now,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. Just smiled gently. “You never tried before.”

“Maybe I was scared.”

His eyes met hers. No teasing this time.

“You don’t seem scared now.”

“I’m not.”

He nodded once.

Then, quietly: “Good.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with the way he was looking at her. Like she wasn’t just some girl at the end of a long day. Like she was the thing he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting to find again. The silence stretched. And then he reached forward not dramatically, just instinctively and brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

His fingers were warm. Calloused at the tips. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just looked at him. Let it sit there. Let it be what it was. And when he dropped his hand and leaned back again, she felt the absence like a string gently tugging at her chest.

They didn’t kiss.

Not yet.

But something settled between them anyway.Something neither of them had words for.

*+*+*+*+**+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+**+*+*+*+*+*+*+**+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

This is just the first part I’m hoping you guys like it, still feel like I can do a lot better lol if you guys have any feedback I’d be glad to hear it (: someone please lmk if this feels rushed (:

@luigisbambinaaa @luigis-wetdream @multi-culti-girl @mangionesdaisy @snoopy184 @mashkatzi

When he does that lil tongue in cheek thing

legal team part one luigi mangione x reader

summary working on luigi mangione’s legal team has its benefits

warnings unedited, I do not like this hair on luigi and speak about it 2x, rpf haters are not gonna like this one, surprisingly safe for work

he doesn’t see you every week.

meetings with his attorney are rare enough. meetings where you’re there too—sitting off to the side with your notepad, eyes lowered—are even rarer. still, he notices you every time. how careful you are. how you listen without pretending to. how you somehow make the cold concrete room feel a little less dead.

he remembers the first time you walked in: frostbitten, soft-spoken and sweet. you were bundled up in a heavy coat, scarf loose around your neck, hair tangled from the wind. you looked too soft for this place. too alive.

his attorney—well, she insists he just call her karen now—she notices. she makes these meetings feel less like depositions and more like conversations. she listens closely, looks for patterns. she sees the way his eyes flicker when you’re mentioned, how they lose focus when someone else enters the room. she caught the way his jaw tensed when she introduced him to her senior paralegal. the way his shoulders dropped, relieved, when she reassured him you weren’t gone—just reassigned, temporarily, to a different stack of documents.

“y/n isn’t here this week,” she says gently, like it might break him.

luigi blinks. he hadn’t even sat down yet. “sorry?”

“she’s still on the case,” karen says pointedly.

the hazel-haired boy sits stiff in his seat. he should be offended—should feel insulted that his attorney finds it necessary to clarify something so trivial, so far from the gravity of his trial. his greatest anxieties should be occupied with the outcome, the press, the sentence hanging over his head like a blade.

but they aren’t.

his fingers twitch against the leather of the chair. he doesn’t look at karen when he asks, voice quieter than before, “so she’ll be back?”

karen nods. “next week, maybe sooner. depends on how fast the paperwork clears.”

he leans back, but only slightly. eyes drift to the window behind her desk—rain tapping gently against the glass like it’s trying to pull him out of the room. he can almost picture you in it. red scarf, crooked smile, hands too small for the amount of documents you had to carry. the soft clumsiness of someone not built for law offices and depositions, but for poetry, maybe. for gardens. for late afternoons with nothing scheduled.

“good,” he murmurs.

she re-arranges the paperwork in front of her, glances at him. “from what i read, you two went to penn together?”

he nods once.

“same year?”

“she graduated early.”

karen nods, making a note in the margin of the document in front of her. “that tracks. she struck me as someone who doesn’t waste time. sharp, efficient. very focused.”

luigi lifts one shoulder in a shrug. avoids her eyes. “we weren’t friends,” he says quietly. the first piece of his real life he’s given up in weeks. “i TA’d for one of her classes.”

karen’s smile comes smally. it’s cute, she thinks. and undoubtedly useful.

“i’ve worked with women like her,” she goes on. “sharp, composed, polite on the surface—but give them a red pen and a narrow margin and they’ll eat you alive. i’d bet she rewrote half your comments.”

a faint smile flickers across his face, the kind that men of his class fight to hide.

“you’re aware, of course, that casual conversation is permitted,” karen says, tone returning to a neutral cadence.

he looks at her now, uncertain.

“with her,” she clarifies. “should she return. which she will. next week.”

he doesn’t respond, but she sees the way his jaw shifts.

karen nods, satisfied. “just thought i’d mention it. in case you were under the impression that you had to admire her silently.”

the next week, karen is back—with her daughter in her place, the senior paralegal. she’s grown on luigi more than he expected. he likes the way her hair is always curled like she’s got somewhere to be after this, and the way she talks back to her mother. in a lot of ways, they’re similar. she knows how to talk to people. she knows how to talk to him.

the rain hasn’t let up all month. it swallows the edges of new york, turns the windows into blurred watercolor, makes the concrete sweat, seeps into his bones even though he hasn’t stepped outside in weeks. it makes the bad days worse. heavier. slower.

they’re mid-review when karen needs to step out for a phone call. he slumps back in his chair and sighs without realizing.

“bored?” sofia, the paralegal, asks, not looking up from the file.

“no,” he says. then, “yeah.”

she snorts softly. “we could ask the court to make the evidence more entertaining.”

“maybe add a soundtrack.”

“sure. live orchestra. i’ll have my father write the motion.”

luigi almost smiles.

she gives him a once-over. almost looks unimpressed. “you’ve let your hair grow out.”

he shrugs. “not much to do about it in here.”

“well, you’re about three inches taller now. we’ll have to update your profile. or adjust the lighting so the media doesn’t notice the awful new hair.”

he exhales through his nose. “very nice.”

and then—

the doors open.

soft voice, familiar cadence, gentle thank you’s to the guards as you step inside, coat dripping at the sleeves, coffee in hand like a peace offering.

“sorry i’m late,” you say, breath still uneven from the run. “you’ll never believe what happened on the train before this—“

luigi doesn’t say anything right away. he barely registers what you’re even saying. he just watches as you tug the scarf loose from your neck, tuck your damp hair behind one ear, offer that half-smile you give when you’re tired but trying.

“you made it,” sofia says. “thank god. our client was getting dramatic.”

you glance at the table, doe-eyed and sweet. “mr. mangione?”

“he sighed like four times,” she says. the two share a glance, where luigi feels himself glaring. surely this was confirmation this family gossips about him at the dinner table.

sofia smiles in his face, a glimmer of mischief sparkling in her chocolate brown eyes. “if there’s ever a tell-all, i’ll make sure the section about your terrible attitude is thorough.”

“i sighed once,” luigi mutters.

the paralegal nods. “yeah. loud enough for me to count it four different ways.”

you draw your presence closer and hold out your hand. a cup of coffee.

“it’s cold. but it’s yours.”

he takes it, fingers brushing yours. he didn’t like coffee, but he liked the gesture. the idea of you going out of your way for him—stepping off the train in the rain, weaving through the checkpoint, explaining yourself to two bored guards just to get through the door and hand him something warm—did something to him. something soft. something stupid.

he smiles up at you. “i’m sure it’s better than anything i can get in here.”

sofia wants to laugh, but doesn’t. she lingers by the table a second longer than necessary, pretending to run through her notes.

“actually,” she says, too suddenly to be believable, “i need to step out. quick call.”

luigi doesn’t look up. “to who?”

“clerk’s office.”

you glance at her. “you already spoke to them this morning.”

“right. well, something might’ve changed.”

“since an hour ago?”

“these people are unpredictable,” she says with a shrug, already slinging her bag over her shoulder. “besides, you’ve got time.”

before you can respond, she’s halfway out, nodding at you, “it’s good you’re back. he’s nicer when you are.”

then she’s gone.

he watches you peel your coat off—slowly, like it’s sticking to your sleeves—and drape it over the back of the chair. you shake the rain from your hair. it clings to your collarbone, a little frizzy from the weather. your pretty eyes wash over his tired face.

“karen said you were a little miserable last week.”

“those women talk too much,” he murmurs. luigi then takes a sip of the coffee, hoping it’ll give him something to do with his hands, but it’s cold. watery. he grimaces.

you arch a brow, sifting through the mountain of documents in front of you. “you mean the ones building your defense?”

he exhales through a crooked smile.

“alright. they talk just enough.”

you take a pause to watch over his expression. “did you want something else?”

“what?”

“you don’t like the coffee?”

“it’s fine.”

“there are vending machines outside—”

luigi takes another swing of the coffee. it’s terrible. “really,” he tells you. “it’s fine.”

“you’re making a face.”

“this is my grateful face.”

you laugh, short and real. it knocks the air out of him, a little.

“that’s your grateful face?” you ask.

“what, you don’t like it?”

“it’s alarming.” you say, teasing. “almost as alarming as your new hairstyle.”

he immediately runs his fingers through his chaos of light brown curls, self-conscious now. “you noticed?”

“how could i not?” you say, already reaching for one of the papers, your eyes flicking over the page like this is just another tuesday. like this—being here with him—is ordinary. he watches you, struck by how easily you settle into the space, how you speak to him like he’s just a man across a table, not a headline or a case file. something about that makes his chest ache a little.

luigi smiles, trying to make it seem like it’s no big deal, but he’s suddenly acutely aware of how unkempt he probably looks. “you think it’ll divide the jury?”

“i dunno, i liked it shorter,” you say, casual, distracted.

luigi nods. “i’ll let the barber know.”

the conversation lingers for a second longer than feels professional. he’s not sure if it’s the cold coffee in his hands or the way your eyes keep landing on him—steady, warm—but there’s a looseness in his chest he hasn’t felt in weeks.

“it’s… really good to see you,” he says, softer now.

your voice has that tired warmth he remembers—not from knowing you, not really, but from watching you closely enough to wish he had.

“yeah,” you reply softly, looking at him with a small smile. “good to see you too.”

the next week, the rain clears.

you arrive in the first minute of morning, your coat slipping off one shoulder, a soft crease still pressed into your cheek from your pillow. there’s a grogginess to your expression—half-lidded eyes, slow movements—that he finds endearing. he watches you walk in with a bundle cradled in your arms, and it takes him a second to realize it’s for him.

“good morning, mr. mangione,” you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep. his mouth lifts slightly at the sound of it. you’re the only one who still calls him that—no teasing, no irony. just soft and sincere, like you still believe in titles, in dignity.

“you know you’re the only person who calls me that,” he murmurs, watching you from under lowered lashes.

his chestnut brown hair is shorter now, clean at the neck, the mess finally tamed. you notice right away, your eyes flicking up as you set the clothes down on the table. the new cut brings out the angles of his face more—sharper jaw, clearer eyes—but there’s still something boyish in the way he looks at you.

your innocent eyes meet his, head tilted. “do you want me to stop?”

he shakes his head once. slow. deliberate. “no. i want you to say it again.”

your lips part slightly, caught off guard—not just by the words, but the way his eyes are on you now.

“we have people waiting, mr. mangione,” you decide on saying, sliding him the cloud of clothes. his fingers tighten around the bundle like he’s anchoring himself to it. he disappears behind the divider, the makeshift dressing area tucked in the corner of the room. you hear the rustle of fabric, the soft clink of the belt buckle. silence, mostly. then his voice, low but clear:

“you didn’t have to bring the tie.”

you smile. “they like it when you wear green.”

he chuckles under his breath. when he steps out, the shirt’s still slightly wrinkled, but it fits. the blazer straightens his posture. the tie—crooked. he frowns down at it, then at you.

“this is not my skill set,” he says.

you stand, stepping in front of him, fingers reaching to adjust it. he goes very still. you tug it straight, tighten the knot gently, smoothing the line of fabric down his chest. he’s watching you the whole time. his eyes aren’t sharp anymore—they’re soft. warmer than you remember.

“better,” you say.

“i like when you do that,” he says quietly.

you glance up, eyebrows raised. “tie your tie?”

“fix me.”

you smile. but you notice it. the air shifts between you—tightens. neither of you moves, but the tension grows sharp. your hands are still at his collar, and his gaze dips to your mouth, just for a second.

his eyes linger on you longer than is professional. there’s something about your face this morning—fresh and undone, your lips still pink from sleep, your eyes impossibly doe-like. they blink slowly, sweetly, and he wonders how it’s possible you look softer now than you did when he first saw you in the frost of december.

“you’re going to be late,” you say, clearing your throat.

“just one thing first,” he says, and before you can ask, he leans in—slowly, giving you the chance to stop him—but you don’t.

his hand curls firmly around your waist, the other finding your jaw, thumb brushing the edge of your mouth before his lips replace it. he kisses like he’s starved for it—slow but deep, tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your knees give a little. he feels it, steadies you with a hand at your hip, pulling you closer, pressing into you like the taste of your mouth is something he doesn’t want to lose.

you gasp softly into him, but he doesn’t pull back. just breathes it in, groaning quietly when your fingers tangle in the short hair at the back of his neck.

you’re heat and rain and tension in his hands. everything about you is soft but decisive—the way your hips press into his, the way you lift your head and open up under him, the way your skin flushes like it’s just for him.

“you cut your hair,” you breathe against him, lips swollen and glazed.

he brushes his nose against yours, smirking. “you hate it?”

“it’s terrible,” you joke.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth skimming your jaw, voice rough. “still kissing me, though.”

you laugh, quiet and shaky, breath hot on his throat. he pulls back enough to look at you—just look. your eyes are glassy and soft and a little dazed. doe-like. he’s never seen anything sweeter.

“how late can i be?” he asks.

“i’d prefer if you didn’t make me explain the delay to a room full of cameras,” you say, pouting.

he laughs, but it’s soft, breath still mingled with yours. “we’ll have to be quick then,” he says smoothly, warm hands wandering. “you’re gonna have to work with me here.”

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